


Infelicitous

by Dach



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Whamilton, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, Vague Mentions of a Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:21:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dach/pseuds/Dach
Summary: Acacia said:cabinet battle in which jefferson and ham are loathing each other to death then ham gets panic attack then Washington went to comfort him lIKE????I said:HELL YUPJefferson crosses a line, Hamilton panics, and Washington comforts.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [billspilledquill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/billspilledquill/gifts).



> Birthday present for cantgetoversns
> 
>  
> 
> Alternatively titled: Alexander’s Horrible Childhood/Day  
> Haha. Ha. ha.

“-and yet he figures that my plan would be somehow detrimental?” Jefferson _sneered._ “That’s hypocritical to say the _least_ . And might I remind you that he completely ignores the people that his supposed plan would make suffer??? You would think that _this_ man would learn from his,” Jefferson lifted his fingers to air-quote the word: “ _'experience’_.”

    John’s hand on his forearm was the only thing that kept Hamilton anchored in his seat. The grinding of his teeth was practically audible, and even if one failed to notice it, they would undoubtedly see how he left hand was clenching the pen so hard that it was a small wonder it hadn’t snapped into a shower of plastic yet. An even larger wonder was that Hamilton hadn’t leapt at Jefferson’s throat with murderous intent yet. Small wonders would have to be the ones revered though, for large ones were certainly not to stay as such for much longer.

    Sure enough, when Jefferson spun on Hamilton, declaring, “this man is poisoned by political pursuit!” the shorter cabinet member surged to his feet, his chair clattering to the ground. Hamilton wrenched his forearms out of John’s grasp, ignoring John’s exclamation of warning and stalking around the table.

    “You think _I_ am poisoned!” Hamilton snarled, gripping the edges of the other side of Jefferson’s podium. “ _You_ were raised in the perfect little house! A mockery of Utopia! The only thing that you’ve,” the dark-haired cabinet member raised his hands to air-quote in mockery of his opponent, “‘ _learned_ ’ is that money can get you anywhere! You’ve lost _all_ morale since you’ve- no, actually, that isn’t even honest! That infers that you had a consciousness to begin with! As your moronic actions can attest to, you obviously _don’t_!”

    “ _You_ are the moron here, not me!” Jefferson cut in, jabbing Hamilton in the chest with his finger and almost pushing him off of the podium pedestal. “I make plans for the people, you make plans for yourself! Are you _crazy?!_ You can’t honestly think that civilians would vote for a bill that would refute basically _all_ of their rights!”

    “If you don’t think that they would, then why do you even bother protesting it?” Hamilton demanded loudly. “Because you know that they choose it over yours! And of course, your infinitesimal masculinity and narcissistic, overblown ego can’t take another blow! Another blow, that is to say, that isn’t directly related to the consequences of one of your idiotic operations!”

    “It’s thanks to _me_ that they have any rights to begin with!” Jefferson shouted, ignoring the warning step forwards that Washington took. “If it was up to you, they would be living ration to ration!”

    “Not true!” Hamilton shouted. “I took their rights into consideration well enough! Besides, Washington wouldn’t have approved my bill for discussion if it didn’t meet the requirements of the _OBSCURE_ document called the CONSTITUTION!!!”

    “A document that you have announced amendable in the past!”

    “It was documented that the constitution was meant to be revised!”

    “HAMILTON!” Jefferson shouted, leaning over the podium so that he towered over his opponent. “For God’s sake! That document constitutes America!”

    “America needs to change! It’s our job to see that through! Just because your conservative little republican cult doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t mean that we all don’t!”

    “Have some respect for your-” Jefferson cut himself off and a smirk curled his lips. “Have some respect for the country that took in a loudmouth bastard orphan.” The room fell silent, but Jefferson seemed to misinterpret it. “Oh, did they not know?” he asked, in a tone much too innocent as he gestured to the shocked cabinet members. A wicked grin danced across his lips. “Looks like another thing that you hid. Can’t blame you though, who’d want to flaunt their whore mother?”

    Hamilton stumbled back as if struck, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground beneath the pedestal. John growled, and though it was quiet, it could be clearly heard in the silence of the meeting room. Jefferson laughed disbelievingly though, and he stepped delicately around the podium. “Move it, Hamilton,” Jefferson said, tapping the immigrant with the toe of his boot. Hamilton jerked away from him, trying to stand but falling over the instant that his opponent shoved him.

    Several men yelled something like, “not cool!” but Jefferson shot them a look. John left the room with a red face, muttering under his breath. Hamilton watched the door swing shut behind him. Jefferson laughed.

    “ _Shiiiiit,_  you didn’t tell him did you?” The virginian looked as if it was the best thing that had happened to him in weeks. “At least Laurens seems to know what to do with a bastard like you!” Jefferson motioned towards the door, and advanced on Hamilton with a grin. The steely determination in the fallen man’s eyes faltered. One of the other cabinet members, Knox, stepped forwards to intercept them, but Madison hurried to placate the secretary of war. Jefferson planted his foot on Hamilton’s stomach, pressing over an old scar and drawing a wince from the immigrant.

    “Leave me alone, asshole,” Hamilton hissed. Jefferson laid a hand across his chest in mock offense.

    “ _'Scuse_ me!?” The virginian dropped his facade and leaned forwards, pressing down on Hamilton's stomach a bit harder. Madison was now physically restraining Knox from rushing towards the scene, but he himself looked a little unsure. “Say that again, bitch.”

    “Fu-” Hamilton began, before Jefferson pushed down a little harder on his stomach and his insult was choked off. When it became clear that the immigrant couldn’t breathe, Jefferson leaned back a little and Hamilton tried to scramble away, wheezing harshly. Jefferson kicked him in the side, sending him back down.

    “Christ, man, give him a break!” Randolph called, looking moments away from joining the fray. Unfortunately, knowing the man and his position as a second to Jefferson, Hamilton was quickly able to surmise that he wouldn’t be joining the fight in Hamilton’s favor. Adams fidgeted a little beside the second Secretary of State, but he didn’t appear as if his delicate sensibilities were terribly offended, and especially not to a level that would invoke his violence.

    Jefferson grasped the collar of Hamilton’s shirt, hauling him to his feet and choking out a quiet, “fatass,” when the weathered cloth tore. The smaller man fell back against the podium, hitting his back on the wood and slumping to the ground. Jefferson shot him a disdainful glare, but obliged Randolph and didn’t kick him again.

    It was then that the door in the back slammed open and a thunderous Washington stormed through it. Behind him stalked John and Hercules, both appearing to be equally angry.

Jefferson recoiled from Hamilton as if physically burnt, and Hamilton took the opportunity to push himself to his feet and sprint away, stumbling over his own feet once or twice and nearly sprawling across the floor when his foot encountered a chair leg. Unfortunately, Washington and John, being in the center of the room, could not stop him. As Hamilton ran away, he could faintly hear yelling begin behind him. He sucked in a dry sob, denied the tears pricking at his eyes, ignored the haze in his mind, and let himself run.

The hallway was unnervingly quiet after the torrent of insults, and the thin olefin carpet seemed to sway underneath his feet. Hamilton stumbled to the side, landing on (against? above?) the wall. The paint was too smooth and too warm beneath his skin. He was falling, but only vaguely aware of it. The haze in his mind was settling in, clouding over his eyes and filling his throat. Hamilton tried to choke down another gasp of air, but his throat was seemingly clamped shut. Recognizing a door handle, Hamilton fumbled at it, palming it until the door swung open and he fell to the white floor. The cool air of the washroom slapped him, cold and crisp enough to shock him to reality to the extent that he was able to lock the door before he was once more suffused by panic. The harsh white light beat down on him, exposing everything. Hamilton pushed himself underneath a sink, hitting his head on the underside of the counter as he clawed at his throat. _He couldn’t breathe, goddamit._

His head spinning, Hamilton drove himself back against the tiled wall of the washroom, surrendering to the torrent of panicked thoughts that beat at his mind.

So many memories that took so many tears to uncover.

Revealed as a bastard, as an orphan, as a bitch, as nothing that his efforts should have proved him to be. Declared in need of the salvation of God- please. The only God was the God piece that so many spoke. If God was real he wouldn't have taken everything. He wouldn't have taken his mother, his brother, his cousin. He wouldn't have given Hamilton what even He would have declared lost causes: his father, the hurricane. He wouldn't have thrust Hamilton into life on the streets, tethering him to a horse of time for the immigrant to be hauled through five years of hell.

The only success that Hamilton had ever had he'd forged himself. Sleepless nights spent on essays to appease asshole employers, days of hunger pains when he couldn't afford any solid food, years underneath the government's thumb until he finally fought his way to the top and passed a bill to benefit immigrants, over two decades of grief and hard-won battles against himself and others.

Now, the Christianity instilled on the island where he was raised, the link to his lost family, was burned, scorched, and tortured. Now, Hamilton held close what he could, loving what he was allowed with a hot passion, knowing that what he cared about could be wrenched away from him any moment. And now, through pettiness, Jefferson had single-handedly destroyed what Hamilton had built with the remnants God had left him with.

Hamilton tried to breathe.

_Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf… good. Neuf, huit, sept, six, quatre, trois, deux, un._

It didn’t help.

Hot tears covered his cheeks.

An odd clicking, a fumbling, and then the door opened. Washington stood in the doorway with a key held aloft. He glanced around and Hamilton held his breath, his chest still heaving and his shoulders still shaking, hoping to escape notice. But for once, he was not overlooked and the next thing he knew, the CEO was crawling underneath the sink to cradle Hamilton to his chest. He murmured something that Hamilton couldn’t quite hear and, ignoring the shame burning inside, Hamilton buried his face in the front of Washington’s suit. His chest shook. Finally, Washington murmured something audible: a quiet, “I’m here, son.”

“Don’t call me son,” Hamilton choked. 'Son' was a term of paternal endearment. The closeness needed between two people for such terms to come from one's mouth naturally was risky. Hamilton couldn’t let Washington be taken away from him, as was every person he had ever gotten close to in the past. Washington made a noise halfway between a chuckle and a sob.

“You’re stubborn.”

“I’m sorry.”

Washington withdrew for a second, glanced at Hamilton as if in shock, then held him closer. “Don’t be, Alexander.”

They laid there for a few more moments on the cold tile floor, Hamilton’s panic gradually lessening as he did his best to relax into the arms that held him. Washington began to hum softly, and Alexander snuggled closer to him. Then he froze. _Goddamit._

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, pushing himself away and attempting to stand. Washington surged to his feet and managed to catch the shorter man before he fell. “I’m sorry,” Hamilton choked again, his face red. Washington just held him in a loose embrace for a few moments, as if trying to convey a feeling rather than a verbal message. Finally, Hamilton sighed and the last traces of panic edged away. Relief pervaded him.

“Thank you, sir.”

They stood in relative silence for several moments.

Shouting began to drift in from down the hall. Laurens and Jefferson’s voices were pretty damn distinct as the perpetrators.

“Shit.”

“Sir?”

“I left John in charge.”

**Author's Note:**

> Off-key singing: HAAAAAPPPYYY BIIIIRRRTHHDAAAYYYYY TOOOO YOOOOUUU, ACAAACIIIIAAAAAAA!!!!!!


End file.
